"...and somewhere along the way I fell in love with you."

My dad got married last Saturday. There are lots of stories to tell, and there will be lots of pictures to share. The work of God in this weekend and this wedding and these two lives and families has been tremendous.

The wedding was light, and fun, but truly sincere. There was lots of laughter, and there was more honesty in the vows that my Dad and Jolene made to each other than I've ever heard in a wedding ceremony.

I hope to post snippets of the ceremony, including the vows, on Youtube sometime after I get my dad's permission. But I didn't want to wait in sharing this with you -- a transcription of what they said to each other as they promised to live with and for each other for the rest of their lives.

Glory to God.



John: Just over 12 years ago, I got divorced. I know that's a strange way to talk at a wedding, but after much grief and many years I still wondered: if I thought before that my choice for a bride was good for life and it wasn't, then if I ever made a similar decision, couldn't it be just as wrong? The answer is -- with all things equal, then yes, a similar decision could be just as wrong. So how unequal do things need to be before I'll be able to make a good and righteous decision about remarriage, if that were ever to become an option? I spent much time deciding under what conditions anyone should or shouldn't be married. Here, in part, is what I've come up with.

One should be out of the family home, living independently for two years, otherwise you just have no internal frame of reference upon which to measure your own maturity. One must have an active and healthy spiritual life, based upon ones own spiritual research rather than that of parents or friends. One must know from experience that they can and will follow through with a committment, even after new circumstances make it a much larger sacrifice than they originally expected. One must be able and willing to sacrifice freedom, wealth, and friends, for the right reasons. One must be prepared to nurse and care for an invalid for the rest of one's life without the support of a spouse, while still forsaking all others. This is the proverbial...the spouse get hits by a bus or a Mac truck (or a Peterbilt)... You're still married.

So that's maturity, a healthy spiritual life, committment, sacrifice, and willing servitude. In a nutshell, am I mature enough to know if I'm ready for a lifetime marriage committment to someone with a healthy relationship with Jesus Christ? And am I ready to willingly make whatever sacrifices are neccesary, even if my spouse loses the ability to move or communicate shortly after saying I do? And can I be objective enough and patient enough to discern those qualities in a potential mate? One is not ready to marry until both questions can be answered in the affirmative, without reservation.

So, to make a promise for richer or poorer, in good times and bad, in sickness and health -- Well, for richer, good times and health, that's... duh. But to commit to love, devotion, loyalty, affection, and fidelity for poorer, bad times, and sickness... that's a more serious matter.

Let it be known that today I pledge to God himself that I commit to Jolene my love, devotion, loyalty, affection, and fidelity from this day forward -- for poorer, in bad times, and in sickness, so help me God.

So, help me God! Lord, if in your grace and mercy you send us some riches, good days, and health, I'd be mighty grateful. But may your will be done in our lives. Amen.

I, John Overhauser, take you, Jolene Maltbie, to be my wife -- regardless of circumstances, regardless of economics, regardless of health, until we are parted by death.



Jolene: When we first became friends, I wasn't really quite sure what your intentions were. The last thing in the world I was thinking about is... I don't need a relationship right now. So I felt that it was neccesary to inform you that the only thing I could offer you was a friendship, and that's it. You said , "Okay." As time passed on, and as our friendship grew, I learned that there was something about you... I was pulled in by your charm, your sense of humor, your genuine concern for others, and even more importantly your love for God and your desire to emulate the characteristics of our savior Jesus Christ.

And somewhere along the way I fell in love with you.

And it was I who later asked you, "Do you think that our relationship could go to the next step?" And you said, "You haven't given me permission to think about that! Can I think about that?" Well, we all know what the answer is, so... (laughter)

And it is a great joy to take you to be my husband. The decision to commit to share my life with you is one that I make happily, and with full confidence in our love, secure in the knowledge that you will be my constant friend and my faithful partner. I give to you, in the presence of God and all our friends and family, witnesses here today, my promise to stay by your side in sickness and in health, in joy and in sorrow, as well as through the good times and bad. I promise to respect you and love you without reservation, comfort you in times of distress, encourage you to achieve your goals, and laugh with you -- a lot -- and cry with you, and always be open and honest with you, and to allow God to use you to build His qualities in me.

And I know that along the way is going to be some new challenges that God is going to give us to face, and these challenges and responsibilities I cannot fulfill in my own strength, but by God's grace and by God's power working within me, it is my desire to fulfill my role as your wife beyond any measure that I can fulfill on my own. I thank God and praise God continually for you. And I thank you for your unconditional love and your devoted friendship.

And I, Jolene Kaye Maltbie, take you, John Albert Overhuser, to be my husband -- regardless of any circumstances, regardless of our economic status, regardless of our health, until death parts us.

solemn thanksgiving

I'm having one of those mornings where everything seems weighty and grave. Perhaps it's the stress from packing and anticipating travel and a weekend of family and celebration. Perhaps all my lightheartedness got used up in one go last night at Yellow House, when I prayed a prayer so ridiculous that six girls were throwing pens and dying of laughter. Perhaps it's because I've gotten no sleep for all the coughing these last few days. Anyway, I'm solemn this morning.

Except for now that I've thought about all that laughter from last night, my solemnity is dissolving. But quick, here's the solemn thing I wanted to say:

There's a story in Exodus 17 about Moses, Joshua, and a battle. Joshua and his crew are fighting the Amelekites, and things aren't going well. God tells Moses to lift up his arms, and when he does, the Israelites start winning. But when Moses gets tired and his arms fall down, Joshua and the army start losing.


"When Moses' hands grew tired, they took a stone and put it under him and he sat on it. Aaron and Hur held his hands up--one on one side, one on the other--so that his hands remained steady till sunset. So Joshua overcame the Amalekite army with the sword."

It's an amazing, improbable, wonderful, and strange story.


Anyway, this has been a very strange season of my life, especially these last five or so months since graduation. I've been sitting around waiting for the future to start. It's been active, and passive, and difficult. There's not a whole lot I've been able to do, just a lot to be faithful to and to pray about, etc. I kind of feel like I've been standing here with my arms in the air, trusting that somehow standing with my arms in the air is going to make a difference.

You guys have been here for me, alongside me, helping me get through, like Aaron and Hur did for Moses. And I just wanted to say, with all my heart, thank you.

Thank you for the hugs and phone calls and facebook messages and blog comments. Thank you for the coffees and lunches and inside jokes. Thank you for offering me a bit of yourself for the sake of community. Thank you for speaking truth to me, lovingly, even when I've not wanted to hear it. Thanks for the encouragement, and accountability, and for humoring me when I've said and done things that have made you slightly uncomfortable. Thank you most of all for the prayers for me and for my family -- I know there are lots of people who pray for me and I don't even know about it, and that just floors me.

Bless you all. I'm asking God to rain lots of joy on you today, and peace, and grace. Bless you. I couldn't be who I am without you.

Thank you for holding up my arms.